


Lubricious

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Grinding, Lap Sex, Lap Sitting, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Rhys as Jack's PA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 15:30:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14547804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Despite doing a decent enough job as Jack's assistant as to not get killed, Rhys finds himself wishing the CEO was just atadless stingy with compliments.Fortunately for him, Jack's about to take a verypersonalinterest in evaluating his performance.





	Lubricious

**Author's Note:**

> Some more fun with PA!Rhys, I just wanted to write some lap-sitting sex really bad. Have fun! :)

Jack was a difficult man to please, but Rhys was up to the challenge. 

After all, not many got the opportunity to work directly with the CEO as he did. He’d clawed his way into the most coveted position amongst Jack’s carefully crafted cult of personality, and the _last_ thing he wanted to do was to disappoint and prove the other sore losers right in their assessment of Rhys’ abilities.

Though, truth be told, Rhys didn’t even know if he _was_ living up to Jack’s standards, as the older man didn’t exactly have the care or punctuality to draft performance reviews that weren’t ultimately jokes or snide comments,but Rhys had been at least good enough so far to avoid a trip out the airlock. Or a bullet to the skull. Or hands around his neck. Or any number of creative ways Jack could come up with to kill someone who _really_ displeased him. 

At the same time, compliments were few and far between, and though Rhys could survive off of ambition, work ethic, and the fact that he had the privilege to work with Handsome Jack every weekday of his life, Rhys was craving some praise. Even if Jack _was_ notoriously stingy with compliments when it came to everyone but himself, Rhys figured he’d done competently enough for Jack to say _something_ about his ability as an assistant.

Each morning started roughly the same. Little had changed from Rhys’s previous routine, the one he’d powered through every day as he sought to climb up from middle manager. He even ended up going to the same coffee shop, since by pleasant coincidence Jack favored the exact one Rhys had patronized for years.

In fact, with the exception of the iridescent black boots Rhys splurged on once he’d been promoted to Jack’s assistant, and the fact that he got to take the fanciest elevator in Helios up to the head office rather than slum it in some cubicle, his routine kept mostly the same. 

Jack took his coffee black and his doughnut chocolate, frosted, and covered in lavender sprinkles. Rhys, as much as he liked his sweets, had long discovered sugary breakfasts gave him headaches and caused him to space outbefore he even made it to lunch, so he usually picked up a breakfast sandwich to go with his latte. He would lay it out on a spread of Hyperion-brand napkins and set up his workstation, intermittently munching on the food in between sips of coffee as he scrolled through his morning peruse of Jack’s professional inbox. 

The digital nature of much of Hyperion’s filing and messages dissuaded much physical interaction between him and Jack, though the CEO allowed a couple of breaks to allow Rhys to stretch his legs and prevent his back and butt from cramping up too badly. He usually paced a short path around the office, getting a nice break from his sedentary schedule while Jack ignored him—either too engrossed in his own work or distracting himself with paper airplanes made from scraps of paper or old printed memos scrounged from the desk drawers. Rhys had once suggested Jack pick up origami if he wanted to refine his idle distractions, a suggestionthat’d been met with a derisive grunt and a paper airplane to the forehead.

Today, he managed to get a good couple of hours worth of work in before that familiar cramp twisted in his legs. Without asking Jack for permission, he stood, and started to walk his usual little circle around his desk, occasionally stopping to stretch out his thighs and calves. 

However, he decided on a whim to change things up a little bit, straying a little further towards Jack’s desk. He rolled his shoulders, the flesh knit into the socket of his cybernetic stretching out as he faced the wide window behind Jack’s desk.

Rhys started to bend down, fingers reaching out towards the curved tips of his boots, when the sudden sound of wheels on steel screeched into his ears and broad hands clamped against his hips, tugging him backwards and off-balance. 

Luckily, Rhys’ first instinct was to bite his lower lip, suppressing the little yelp of surprise that sprung up from his throat as he bounced slightly against Jack’s thighs. 

He turned his head over his shoulder and looked back at the CEO, wild surprise in his eyes. 

Jack acted like he hadn’t done anything out of line. He merely moved his hand around Rhys’ seated hips to settle on his thigh, a firm presence pressing downwards and keeping his assistant frozen. Rhys arched his spine forward, suddenly worried Jack might feel the pounding of his heartbeat through his back.

“ _Hm_.” The CEO snickered from behind him, laughter building. For a moment, that gave Rhys hope this was just a prank or an accident, and that Jack would let him go, give him a couple rounds of mockery, then get bored and wave him back off to his desk. 

But then Jack’s other hand crept up to the back of Rhys’ collar and gave it a sharp tug, pulling him back against the older man’s chest.

Jack’s lips were closer to Rhys’ ear than they had ever been before, and he could feel the soft inhale-exhale of each breath.

He felt like a disposable movie character the moment before the monster chowed down. The little curled hairs near the nape of his neck fluttered slightly, drawing into towards flaring nostrils as Jack presumably—smelled him? Examined him? What was Jack’s angle here?

“You know…” The older man finally started, his voice trickling down Rhys’ spine. “All this time, I’ve been _dying_ to get a closer look at you.”

Rhys’ mind stuttered, unsure what context to put what Jack said into. His position perched atop Jack’s lap clearly spoke to something more _personal_ , and while Rhys had learned the role of assistant well enough, he had _no_ idea how to deal with Jack on a more physical— _intimately_ physical level. If that’s what the man was going for.

The idea of Jack appraising his looks sent his thoughts aquiver, suppressed fantasies spilling out of him like a cracked jar of jelly. He wobbled slightly in Jack’s hold, trying to get a grip on himself even as Jack’s palm rubbed steadily, up and down a short track on his thigh. 

Rhys suddenly had no idea what to do with his body and, most troublingly,his hands, and each option seemed riskier than the last. Putting them on any part of Jack’s body seemed like it’d invite _more_ invasive touching—something he wasn’t sure he wanted just yet. And placing his hands on the edge of Jack’s desk would only put him in a potentially more compromising position.

He settled for tucking them awkwardly into his pits, forearms crossed over his chest so he could feel every _thump_ of rapid heartbeat against his ribs. Something Jack could certainly feel, now that he’d pulled them back to chest. 

“You’ve…always got the most _ridiculous_ sense of style…” Jack laughed as the fingers that’d yanked his collar back traveled over his shoulder and down towards the center of his his chest.

If Rhys was foolish, he might bring up the fact that Jack dressed equally, if not _more_ ridiculously than he did. At least Rhys kept his ensemble to three layers—shirt, vest, undershirt—whereas Jack looked like he’d yanked two blind fistfuls of clothes out of his wardrobe and threw them on. It suited him, Rhys thought, but he didn’t think Jack had any business criticizing _his_ outfit.

He didn’t say anything of this, of course, merely nodding gently as Jack’s fingers stroked down to the knot of his tie. Rhys dropped his hand down his body, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants at the thigh. 

“You know, they say those badass alpha skags—you know the bastards down on Pandora—are drawn to bright-ass colors. Drives them crazy. Something in their biology, I guess. Didn’t quite get it myself until I saw you for the first time wearing this little thing.” He tugged at the knot, tightening it just a tad around Rhys’ collar. 

“Really draws the eye, _hm_? Like an arrow, or a road-sign on a foreign planet.” 

His fingers began to trail all the way down, slowly migrating from Rhys’ throat and skirting over his sternum. He kept the tie lightly pinched between two fingers, though the underside of the index knuckle bumped against each of Rhys’ buttons as it traveled over his belly, halting near his waistband. 

“See? It’s like you’re leading me into your pants, sugar.” _That_ was a new one. Rhys was used to “pumpkin,” “princess,” and “kiddo,” accepted them as part of Jack’s condescending lingo. But sugar was new. 

Jack let go of the tie without yanking it out of his pants, which was a bit of a relief considering it was clipped to the waistband of his boxers and Jack would undeniably mock him for it, but then his hand rubbed over Rhys’ middle and he reflexively sucked in the gut he’d developed over the years of cushy corporate positions and comforting treats. It wasn’t _that_ noticeable, especially with his tailored clothes and high-waisted pants, but that didn’t mean he wanted Jack touching it. 

Right?

A pleased sigh wafted into his ear from behind, and as Jack’s hand finally traveled below the belt and settled on his crotch and Rhys remembered what he wanted wasn’t exactly relevant here. 

And Jack _was_ dangerous, after all. It all came rushing back to Rhys’ as he sat in Jack’s lap, any sense of self-preservation screaming at him as the man’s palm rested against his groin. 

Spending day after day with Jack, witnessing all the man’s mundane habits, the less glamorous aspects of ruling Hyperion, had done a little to mute the man’s deadly aura. Not that Rhys had ever been so foolish to do anything that might make Jack angry enough to murder him over, but memorizing the CEO’s coffee order and setting his schedule had scratched away just a _little_ of the mystique. 

But the hands pressing even firmer down on his thigh and groin reminded Rhys of Jack’s inconstancy as he sat in the man’s lap. Rhys could feel the still unused power and **sway** in the twitch of Jack’s fingers, and he wisely stayed in place, moving little more than the lump his throat and saying nothing until Jack spoke up. 

“You know, you’re putting up less of a fight then I thought you would.” The clip on Jack’s chin digs a little into Rhys’ collarbone as he rests his head against his shoulder. He played with his zipper, flicking it up and down with faint little _clinks_. Aside from his breathing and Jack’s considerate hums, it was the only sound in the office. Rhys waited for the metal teeth to tug downwards, to split the air with the hissing noise of his zipper coming undone, but nothing followed.  

“What would you do,” Jack crooned just underneath his ear, breath curling in the secret little hollow between his lobe and jawline, “if I were to put my hand in your pants right now?”

Rhys’ hands curled into even tighter fists, eyes unable to pull away from where Jack’s hand rested on his crotch. Only the rough fabric of his jeans and the thinner, silkier material of his boxer’s separating their warm skin from each other. Rhys’ fantasy, one he’d been nurturing in the back of his mind for the sake of professionalism, bloomed forth, forcing his tongue. 

“What…whatever you wanted me to do.”

The air stilled, briefly, in Rhys’ lungs as he suddenly second-guessed his response. Giving full control of one’s fate over to Jack could be fruitful or a complete death sentence, based on the man’s changeable mood. Rhys had seen it firsthand, had witnessed Jack go from smiling and agreeable to violent and blood-soaked, but it was too late to take back the offer so he simply sat, vulnerable in the CEO’s lap, waiting on his approval. 

“ _Hmm_. Interesting.” To Rhys’ surprise, Jack sounded neither particularly pleased nor offended. He pursed his lips at the man’s neutrality, waiting a few seconds more before daring to speak again. 

“Wh…what?” Now that Rhys had spoken up, his nerves left his mouth running. “Were you expecting something else? Begging? Screaming or crying?” 

Rhys raised his eyebrow, though Jack couldn’t see. “Maybe sounding the alarm that Handsome Jack himself was threatening to feel me up?”

“Well.” Jack shifted underneath him, sounding a tad taken aback. “That might’ve been _fun_.”

Rhys turned his head slightly to the side, managing to catch a glimpse of Jack in the periphery. “Is that what you want me to do then? Scream and cry? Beg?” 

Without really meaning to he’d turned the onus of the initial question on his head, leaving Jack to recoup. He hummed, likely debating the offer, but just as Rhys had started to devise what kind of pleading might tickle Jack’s fancy warm, wet lips pressed against the side of his neck.

“Nah…you know what…How ‘bout…just lay back…” Rhys had never heard Jack’s voice this low, almost _secretive_. “And let me touch you. As much as I want. Sound fun?”

It did, but Rhys was having a difficult time vocalizing his thoughts, especially when Jack started to trail his lips up and down the side of his neck. He choked up slightly, lump rising up in his throat, but managed a nod and a tight little groan of assent. 

“ _Good boy_ ,” Jack purred, and that sent Rhys’ heart thumping like he’d been struck with a shock round. Warm instantly pools deep in his stomach, so sudden and thick that for a moment it felt it might leak through his skin. 

The hand on Rhys’ crotch stayed, holding him in place as Jack slid the other down his thigh to his knee. Large fingers hooked underneath, folding Rhys’ leg up towards his chest before draping it over the arm of Jack’s chair. The other leg quickly followed, leaving Rhys’ thighs spread as wide as they could go, his knees braced against the outer edge of each armrest. With his legs pulled so wide—wide enough that the socket between his pelvis and thighs pulled with ache—Rhys could see the bulge in Jack’s pants just as obviously as he could feel it now pressing into the underside of his clothed behind. 

“You want to be my good boy, don’t you Rhysie? You’ve been such a busy little bee so far, you wouldn’t object to doing a little bit…. _more_ for daddy, huh?”

Rhys swallowed against the firm lump in his throat, managing another nod as his arousal clenched. _Crap_. 

He _very_ much wanted to be Jack’s good boy. 

Rhys ended up remembering little from the actual act. Unlike past sexual experiences, it seemed to happen quickly, though perhaps he’d just been so overwhelmed over how thoroughly his wildest fantasy had been realized. Jack hadn’t penetrated him, no, but he had pulled Rhys’ pants down to his thighs and rutted the meat of his cock between his asscheeks while he squeezed and stroked Rhys’ cock. The friction against his hole, a tease of what could come, married with the warm, calloused palm rubbing up against his shaft had Rhys coming harder than he had within recent memory, no matter how momentary the actual sex felt in retrospect. When he fully fell back to reality he was resting back against Jack’s torso, his head tipped back to lay on the older man’s shoulder as Jack nosed against his forehead. 

Rhys’ could feel Jack’s cum drying against his lower back. His own sweat stuck to his shirt, bound to grow uncomfortable in the hours between now and when he finally got home and took a shower. He was a mess. 

And he _loved_ it.

Surprisingly, Jack allowed him to rest in his lap. Rhys had figured him to be the love-them-and-leave-them type, all business after orgasm, but he kept Rhys in his grasp, petting him like a tired kitten. A chuckle breathed across his face, the satisfaction in Jack’s voice as he whispered to Rhys’ enough to fuel his worth ethic for the next millennium. 

“Keep up the good work, sweetheart, and I might actually put it in you next time.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comment if you guys like these PA Rhys fics and wanna see more, I feel like I should explore the trope more and do some more stuff with it!


End file.
